On Sunday it rained again so I wrote down all the things that had happened on Saturday and started reading To Kill a Mockingbird. (Dad is teaching it for Year Nine English and he let me borrow his copy.) Then today two things happened that made me think my luck was changing:

1) The sun came out, and

2) It was A Pupil-Free Day.

A Pupil-Free Day means kids don’t go to school but teachers do so they can get work done without being distracted, work like writing reports or putting up displays or having staff meetings. So on Monday morning Dad ate his breakfast and got his bag and his keys and went to school, and Diana stayed in her room Meditating, and Mum went to the library, and Simon and I went looking for the peacocks.

I packed my backpack with water and zucchini cake. I was going to call Jonas but then I remembered that he was leaving this morning for his big overseas holiday with Peter and Irene, so I didn’t. I showed Simon William Shakespeare’s feather and let him sniff it. I was hoping doing this would help him find the peacocks the way letting police dogs sniff evidence helps them find criminals. But Simon just looked confused, and when I pushed the feather closer to his nose he sneezed all over it. Simon is definitely not police-dog material.

While we were walking, Simon had his nose down deep in the leaves. He moved really fast and sniffed a lot, and he kind of looked and sounded like a vacuum cleaner. I liked the idea that we were vacuuming for clues. We vacuumed all the way along the river in one direction and all the way back again in the other. We vacuumed off the track and into the bush and under logs and into wombat holes. We vacuumed for so long that the sun climbed right up into the middle of the sky and my stomach started grumbling. We hadn’t found any clues, and I was about to suggest that it was time for zucchini cake. But then Simon stopped and stood very still.

Simon never stops and stands still, unless something important is happening, like Dad opening a can of dog food or Aunt Sally’s car pulling into our driveway. The only thing that moved was Simon’s pink nose—it twitched, and its nostrils got wider, and the little hairs on the end of it stood up and reached forward like they were arrows pointing towards a smell. My eyes followed Simon’s nose across the river and between two gum trees. And standing there, with his tail folded up and his wings tucked against him, was William Shakespeare.

It took the rest of Simon a while to catch up with his nose (because Simon is a Brittany spaniel smell is his best sense), but when it did he started running, and there was nothing I could do except hold on to his lead and run too. After smelling, Simon’s best skill is being strong, so when he started pulling us down the bank towards William Shakespeare I knew I had no hope. I was going in the river.

It wasn’t as cold as I expected it to be, but it was as wet. I landed on my bum and yelled ‘Ow!’ and that was when Simon finally stopped and turned around to look at me. His face was a mix of ‘What are you doing in the river?’ and ‘Hurry up!’

I quickly checked to make sure there were no yabbies nearby and then hauled myself out of the water. Across the river William Shakespeare was still standing between the gum trees. He was looking at us with his head on one side like he was trying to figure out what we were doing. Then Simon barked and William Shakespeare let out a loud Liiieeaaaaaawww! sound and ran off into the bush.

By the time we got out of the water and up the bank and through the trees William Shakespeare was nowhere to be seen. Simon looked at me with the same face he has when he thinks he’s getting a bone and it turns out to be a worm tablet.

William Shakespeare had led us to The Other Side of Town. We vacuumed slower (because we were disappointed and because I was waterlogged) past the bank, and The Very Nice Restaurant, and Lee Street and the bus station. When we got to the hospital we sat down for a rest. Simon licked my wet shoes and I gave him some zucchini cake. Then I tried to decide what to do next.

While we were sitting and eating and thinking, a car door slammed. I looked up. Across the road was a red station wagon, which is exactly the kind of car that my dad drives. And walking away from the red station wagon—even though he should have been photocopying or cleaning his desk or having a meeting—was my dad.

When Simon saw Dad he started whimpering and pulling on the lead and trying to get to him. But something about the look on Dad’s face and the direction he was walking in made me think he wouldn’t be happy to see us. And the direction he was walking in was past the hospital and up the little path and through the little gate and into The Clinic.

I pulled Simon behind some bushes and knelt down. We watched Dad walk—in his brown going-to-work shoes with his brown going-to-work bag. And he looked exactly like my dad in every way except that he was in a place I’d never seen my dad go, making a face I’d never seen my dad make. We watched until the door of The Clinic closed behind him, and until the shot-put in my stomach was so heavy I thought I might throw up.

The only thing I could think to do next was go home. So I packed up the zucchini cake and the water and William Shakespeare’s feather.

And we went.